


gravediggress

by mooselady



Category: Ava's Demon
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M, mangy mutt soiling the tapestry of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7538110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooselady/pseuds/mooselady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>dig me a hole i can bury all of my love in, all of my holy</p>
            </blockquote>





	gravediggress

“Ava, p-please don’t.”

She placed another wildflower behind his ear. 

“Hush, it looks fine.”

A few moments passed, and the once purple bud began to brown, causing the petals to shrivel and wilt. 

Odin kept his gaze to the ground, running his gloved hand over the surrounding grass. For once, he wished he could feel the blades leave tiny cuts between his fingers. 

He muttered, “It’ll d-die. You know that.”

Ava smiled, concentrating on the flower stems gathered in her lap, threading them carefully together. They sat cross-legged, side by side, under the shade of a wisteria. Bright sunlight shone unto the land, causing birds of all shapes and sizes to flock, pecking at the ground in search of food. The neighboring river beside the Arrow estate flowed carefully, calmly down the hillside. 

Odin rubbed at the back of his head, running his palm over the tops of the grass. There was a time, what seemed like forever ago, that his mother would take him to this same place. As a child, he’d pick her bouquets of flowers, and she’d always place them in a vase beneath the kitchen window.

“They are beautiful Odin,” she would say, stroking the top of his head. “Thank you.”

“There,” Ava stated coolly, holding up the wreath of flowers. She stretched towards him, attempting to place the crown on his head when he turned away. 

“I’ll k-kill it,” he sighed. “And y-you worked so hard making it.”

“Odin,” she said. “The few seconds I get to see flowers in your hair are all that matter, okay?”

He gulped, mentally pleading with his skin to stop betraying itself into a bright violet. “Okay,” the teenager mumbled.

She smiled, happy and bright as she adorned him with the soft lilacs and lavenders. A few moments passed, and with his touch, the flowers drooped, dying and disintegrating into their morbid fate.

He knew he shouldn’t expect her to scold him, to tell him he was a freak of nature, a danger to her and everybody around them. 

He had to believe she would never say that, he had to.

Instead, Odin leaned forward, kissing her on the forehead. 

Of course he felt guilty. 

There was no one he could touch, no one who could withstand the way his skin stole life, except her. After his pact with Pedri, he realized he couldn’t control it, couldn’t cooperate with his powers or convince them to just simply _stop_. He had been outside one night, gathering firewood when a moth had landed on his arm. He held up the lantern, watching the tiny insect crawl before halting. It began fluttering spastically, violently, before dropping to the ground and curling into itself, stiff and lifeless.

He couldn’t touch a flower without it wilting, or walk through the fields, running his bare palms over the tops of golden wheat without them dying from his touch, drooping barren to the earth.

The cold of anxiety became worse after that. A plea of “don’t t-touch me” or “j-j-just _please_ stay back” were spoken multiple times a day. People started to get the point after a while. 

One evening, while making dinner, Raven had approached him, interlaced hands together, begging, “Please, please, _please_ Odin, we haven’t wrestled in forever and I know I could beat you this time.”

Pouring the rice into the soup he snorted, “I’m s-sure you c-could.”

“So that’s a yes!”

“That’s a n-no. N-O. No.”

“Aw, c’mon,” she said, reaching out to pull him by the arm. 

He jerked back, pressing himself against the kitchen counter.

“D-Don’t t-touch me!” he blurted out. 

Raven retreated into herself, a wet sheen to her eyes, her bottom lip wobbling. Everyone looked up, watching her as she stalked away, going into her bedroom and slamming the door.

Odin ran a hand over his face. How could he possibly tell his sisters about this curse inside his heart?

It never stopped Ava. At breakfast she would hold his hand over morning coffee, or she’d lick her thumb, reaching up to wipe away a smudge of dirt on his cheek. 

Odin was never one to beg. But at times, he’d ask if he could just hold her hand, or kiss the veins tracing her wrists, or rest his palm over the back of her neck. 

No one except him knew she had a tiny birthmark on the back of her neck, and that alone made him dearly proud. 

By the riverside, Ava laid on her back, stretching out her arms, and rolling her ankles, feeling the midday sun. She looked up at the pastel purples of the hanging wisteria above them. 

“Why is this tree separate from all the others?” she asked.

Odin plucked a dead flower from his hair. “Wisteria is an invasive s-species. It t-takes over and kills other plants,” he answered, laying down beside her to watch the overhead flowers sway in the breeze.

“There’s a s-story that a w-woman was so sad from losing her child, that she hung h-herself with a wisteria vine,” he continued. “But the vine t-took over her body. And she b-became a wisteria tree.”

Ava rolled her head to look at him. She scoffed, “You’re making that up.”

“I am n-not! Go into t-town. Ask anyone about it,” he laughed.

“It sounds like a story used to scare little kids,” she rebutted, tugging at the straps of her sundress. She let them hang down her arms, exposing the wooden drawer on her chest to the sunlight. 

Odin looked at her carefully, first at a glance, then studiously, taking painstaking attention to detail. He could see the faded, indented scars littered across her arms, the flow of magma coursing through her veins, the way her hair seamlessly changed to every shade of scarlet imaginable with a single turn of her neck. The drawer smiled at him. Perhaps to a stranger, the serration of crafted teeth would be a sinister warning, but strangers didn’t get to see Ava Ire weave flower crowns, or hum songs to herself, or watch her as she became lost in absent thought and hopeful daydreams.

How was it that he always found something new, something miraculous about her? 

“Your p-pact drawer is l-looking especially weird today,” he deadpanned, unable to stop the smirk form on his mouth.

Ava raised her brow, tearing out a handful of grass beside her and tossing it onto his face. 

“Not as weird as you zipper boy,” she said back. 

They laid in silence, listening to the birds call back and forth, fluttering from branch to branch above them. Ava peeked at him from half-closed eyes. Shadows were playing tricks over his face, and the last flower in his hair was curling into a blackened, dry pile of ash. He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze.

“Wh-What?”

Ava tugged at the hem of her dress. 

“What are you thinking about?”

He looked up at the canopy of the tree. 

“I’m th-thinking about how my m-mom would take me here,” he answered. The boy rubbed at the smile forming on his face, trying to persuade it to go away. 

“What? What’s so funny?” Ava asked, turning over and resting herself on her elbows. 

“I h-had this nickname,” he said, shaking his head. “She used to c-call me-”

“Odin!”

They sat up to see Crow calling from the hilltop, waving her arm. 

“Olai needs a can of kerosene from the shed!”

Odin side-eyed Ava, then yelled back, “It c-can’t wait?”

“No!”

He sighed, bringing his legs forward and standing up. “Wh-Where are y-your sisters?” he called out. 

Crow shrugged, cupping her hands over her mouth. 

“Hell if I know!”

Odin muttered an “okay” to himself before scoffing, yelling in her direction, “H-Hey, watch your language!” 

He rolled his eyes as his sister took off, disappearing behind the hill, her laughs echoing through the hills. 

“Do y-you want to come with me?” he asked, reaching out with his hand. Ava nodded, quipping with a light “sure!”, as he pulled her to her feet. They began their descent down the slope, pausing at the edge of the river.

“Watch y-your step,” Odin said as they began crossing the rickety bridge connecting the Arrow’s land. He stepped over a break in the bridge. Ava followed promptly, leaping over the dilapidated plank of wood. 

They were walking to the outskirts of the forest, taking twists and turns down a worn path.  Ava looked up at the sea of green above her, taking in the quiet rustle of the leaves. 

“This forest is beautiful,” she remarked. 

Odin grinned from over his shoulder. “You should s-see this place at night then.” He chuckled. “Terrifying w-would become a better word f-for it.”

Ava tossed her hair over her shoulder, huffing, “Oh please. You should know _I’m_ the most terrifying thing on this planet right now.” 

He blinked quickly. 

“You r-really think you’re scary?” he asked. 

They came to a fallen log blocking their path. Odin lifted himself over it first and watched Ava as she followed, speaking, “Well I mean, as far as first impressions go, I think I am.” 

He reached out, holding her by the waist as she turned and landed on the ground. 

The redhead continued, “It’s the horns. And the teeth. And the claws.” 

She sighed, “ _And_ the lava. _And_ the magic.”

Odin let go of her as they continued their walk. “Ava,” he stated. “You are n- _not_ scary. You c-can’t even sleep unless you’re h-holding a stuffed animal.”

“Hush!” she growled, smacking him on the arm lightly. 

He jerked back, chiding, “Who’s gonna h-hear me? The b-birds? The _trees_??”

They took a sharp left as Ava stretched out her arm, letting her hand feel the bark of a tree. Her face twisted in alarm as she felt a sudden stickiness on her hand. 

“Ew!” she blurted out, looking at her hand, now covered in tree sap. “Gross!”

Odin turned to see her flailing at the air. 

“H-Hey! That’s the good stuff,” he remarked, pulling his hands from his pockets. He took her by the wrist and placed his mouth over her fingers, sucking off the sap. Ava shrieked out a noise of horror, jerking back. 

“Quit being disgusting!” she screeched, wiping her hand at the end of her sundress. 

Odin laughed, shrugging, as they continued on their way. 

“You’re such a weirdo,” she mumbled, trying to rub away the bright red blush from her face. 

They came to a small clearing in the woods, revealing an old, decrepit grey shed. Vines and weeds had already began their take-over of the building. Amidst the sunshine, Ava could see a hornet’s nest being rapidly built against the outer wall, a swarm of busy bees flying about wildly. She watched them wearily as they entered the shed. 

Odin started rummaging through a shelf, pushing aside empty containers and coffee tins filled with nails and bolts. Ava wrinkled her nose against the sharp scent of patchouli, watching the dust roll and tumble against the light of the window. 

“It’s h-here somewhere,” he grumbled, setting a hammer unto the carpenter’s bench beside him. 

Ava peered off, studying the shelves of tools and wood-works. Her eye caught sight of a very tall, large wooden box, long and rectangular, leaning against the wall, covered in cobwebs. Carved into the wood was the word _Louvel._

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the box. 

Odin looked in her direction, then went still. 

He shook his head, returning his attention to finding the kerosene. 

“It’s m-my coffin,” he stated bluntly. 

Ava jerked, taking a step back. 

He continued, “I built it wh-when I was s-sick.”

The girl curled her hands around the drawer on her chest, frowning. 

“Do you mean when…”

“Yeah,” he intervened. “When I w-was starving.”

Ava looked from him, to the box, then back to the teenager. She realized it was the same size, the same height as her friend. 

“You…built your own coffin…”

Odin drew in a deep breath and exhaled forcibly. 

“L-Look, no one else was going t-to do it.”

She pictured him hammering the nails into the splintered wood, working like a living corpse over his own demise, his own grave. 

Ava blinked back tears, rubbing at the corners of her eyes. 

Odin pulled out the can of kerosene, saying, “Alright, l-let’s go”, before stopping himself. He set the kerosene on the bench, reaching out to hold her by the shoulders. 

“H-H-Hey,” he stammered, dipping his head down in concern. “Don’t cry.”

Ava shook her head.

“Get rid of it.”

She interrupted him before he could say anything. 

“Get rid of it and _promise_ me you’ll never build another one ever again.”

Odin nodded, repeating his agreement over and over, trying to dissuade her crying. 

In the dying light of the afternoon sun, they carried the dusty coffin into the clearing, surrounding it with firewood and dry leaves. Odin had covered it with a few lines of kerosene, slowly, silently. Ava stopped him as he took the lighter from his pocket; instead, she stooped down, snapping her fingers and sending a wave of heat against the liquid, causing the grave to ignite in flames. 

They watched the coffin burn, nail by nail, into ashes.

“Odin?” she questioned. “What does ‘Louvel’ mean?”

Forcing himself to control the waver in his voice, he answered, “It’s th-the nickname my m-mother gave me.”

He took a deep breath. 

“It m-means ‘little wolf’.”

He was glad she didn’t say anything as he wiped away the tears from his eyes.

———————————–

Sometimes it scared him.

They had found it calming, unspeakably comforting to share a bed at night, speaking in hushed voices until they drifted off to sleep. 

There just seemed to be more time that way, and less anxiety, less fear. He didn’t have to be alone with Pedri in his mind. She didn’t have to listen to Wrathia berate her. Neither of them had to awkwardly watch the married pair embrace and kiss. 

No, what scared him was being the first to wake up. 

He’d open his eyes and see her still sleeping; eyebrows furrowed, hands curled in front of her face, the lava under her skin pushing and pulling like ocean tides. Sometimes she’d dig her nails so intensely against her skin that he was worried she’d hurt herself, or that in any case, she was in pain but chose to ignore it, keeping her secrets and old wounds to herself. 

She always danced around the question of what was inside the drawers of her mind.

At night, lying in bed, he’d trace his finger from the tip of her nail, up her arm, over the indent of her scars, stopping at the end of her collarbone. 

Talking lowly, quietly, she would reach behind his back, scratching softly at his shoulder blades, over the jaggedness of his spine, the crookedness of each and every bone.

He’d sigh, and it worried her that she was able to feel each individual rib protrude from his lungs.

“Do y-you think this w-will be over someday?” he whispered. “No demons. No p-pacts. No war.”

_Do you think someday we could just leave this all behind? Escape together?_

The magma under her flesh glowed warmly against the darkness. He watched as it flowed, churning over her bare shoulders, resting at the temple of her forehead.

“I think someday it will end,” she smiled, the sleepiness causing her to drift off.

He looked up at the ceiling. To Odin Arrow, the end had always meant permanency, finality. 

The End had _always_ meant death.

———————————–

Sometimes it scared her. 

It scared her to wake up before he did, to watch him as he slept soundly as daybreak made the bedroom hazy and bright with early morning sunshine.

It scared her how still he was when he slept, how slow and shallow his breathing was; how, in all likelihood, this was how he would look when one day his heart would eventually stop beating.

Ava tried to erase the thought from her mind.

They would go about their day, making breakfast, completing chores, practicing their powers, trying to hone in on ancient skills. 

She remembered distinctly running her thumb over his wrist one morning, then stopping herself abruptly, panic coursing through her body.

“Where’s your heartbeat?!” she cried out, yanking him by the arm and pulling him down so she could press her ear against his chest. She listened with rapid intent, trying to find it, trying to find the sign of life.

“R-Relax firefly,” he countered, placing her hand over the boniness of his sternum. They stood still, until she could hear the lethargic, dull thump of his heart.

Ava breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Did y-you think I w-was dead or something?” he asked. 

The girl pulled away.

“No, I just,” she answered, unsure of the fear herself. “I just get worried about you is all.”

———————————-

There was one nighttime ritual they loved to share. 

Every night, Ava would pull the book of mythology from Odin’s bookshelf, settling herself beside the teenager on the bed. 

She pinched at the pages, letting them flip one by one past her thumb briskly.

“Tell me when,” she directed.

When Odin thought the moment was right, when he believed fate would choose the story wisely, he’d call out, saying, “S-Stop!”

Sometimes the story was about Icarus, who flew too close to the sun only to fall in the ocean and drown. 

Other times it was the story of how the moon and sun came to be, joining in matrimony and giving birth to the cosmos, their children becoming stars freckled among a blue-black sky.

Ava read this story silently to herself, biting her thumb-nail in concentration at the words. 

One time, the page fell to the story about Hades and Persephone. 

Ava cleared her throat, reading the myth aloud, pausing to squint at the yellowed, water-damaged pages and the indecipherable words written in smudged ink. 

“Persephone was a beautiful goddess who, wherever she stepped, flowers would grow from just her touch. Hades, the God of the Dead, fell in love with her instantly, abducting her and taking her to the Underworld to become his wife.”

She took a breath, turning a page.

“Her mother could not bear to be without her daughter, and all the plants and crops began to wither and die. So Zeus commanded Hades to let Persephone go. However, Persephone had eaten six pomegranate seeds while in the Underworld, and because she had eaten the fruit of the dead,” Ava stopped, reading over the words before she continued, “she could not leave. Not wanting to start anymore conflict, Zeus declared Persephone would have to spend six months in the Underworld with Hades, and then six months on Earth with her mother.” 

Ava flipped the page, only to see a painting depicting the god Hades carrying Persephone away, her hand pushing dramatically against his face in an attempt to flee.

“That’s kind of s-sad,” Odin remarked, staring at the rotating ceiling fan, listening as it creaked.

Ava snorted, stretching the book out at arm’s length, still studying the painting. “Really? Because Hades kind of abducted Persephone. And by ‘kind of’ I mean he took her. He _stole_ her.”

“Y-You don’t think it’s sad though?” he asked. 

“I think,” the redhead answered, “that Hades was tired of all the death and gloom. I mean, how depressing must it be, being the God of Death?” 

Ava closed the book, laying it beside her and stretching her arms.

“Sounds to me like he loved her because she gave life. She could do everything he couldn’t. That must have fascinated him.”

Odin laid there quietly, trying to find the words to say.

“Ava?” he spoke. “B-Back at T-Titan’s Headquarters, I didn’t…”

His voice hesitated before he continued, “D-Did I? Did I t-t-take you?”

She gave him a look of confusion. “What are you talking about?” 

“When we l-left, you had a choice of s-staying, or coming with me,” he explained. “B-But in all the chaos, I d-don’t f-feel like I gave you a choice.”

He placed his hands on his lap worriedly. “Did I s-steal you?”

Ava rolled unto her side, pushing herself up and sitting with her legs tucked under her. 

“No,” she determined. “I went with you because I chose to.” 

He felt unable to face her, unable to admit his guilt for becoming so accustomed to her patience and understanding. 

The girl took him by the shoulders, ducking her head down to look at him.

“You _didn’t_ take me Odin. I promise.”

The angels and devils, demons and demigods, monsters and heroes of these stories were beginning to bleed into each other, making messy inventions and myths seem a little less imaginary, and perhaps a little too real.

Who was the real hero, and who was the monster?

And more urgently, was there a difference?

————————–

She’d think about it often.

Even before her pact, Ava would walk the halls of her school, or stay close to the edges of the courtyard, trying to remain unnoticeable by her classmates. They always had someone to hug or to hold hands with or to kiss. 

She wondered what it felt like, and at times she would find herself daydreaming about her first kiss. Possibly, it could be with that tall boy in her geometry class, or maybe with the brunette girl who’s locker was beside her’s. 

After a while, she decided it wasn’t that important.

So when Odin had asked her if he could hold her hand, or when he’d rest his head on her shoulder, or when she’d take off the glove from his hand so he could run his fingers through her hair, she started to wonder again.

One night, she lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, stealing quick glances at the boy. He lay on his side, his back facing her, breathing peacefully. 

He could probably hear her heart drumming rapidly as she spoke aloud.

“Odin?”

He lifted his head from the pillow, whispering over his shoulder.

“Wh-What?”

Ava gulped, scrunching her toes against the mattress.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” she asked quietly.

The older boy turned, revealing the inhuman red glow coming from his eyes. 

He chuckled.

“Wh-Why are you asking m-me that?”

“Nothing! No reason!” she squeaked, pulling the covers closer.

Odin twisted, leaning on his elbow. 

“You w-want to k-kiss or something?”

The truth betrayed her before she could come up with a snide remark.

“Yes,” she blurted out.

Ava couldn’t peel her line of sight away from the ceiling as Odin shifted in the bed, rolling over and resting an elbow on either side of her head, looking down at the girl beneath him. 

“Have you ever kissed someone before?” she piped up amidst the darkened room.

“Uh,” Odin looked off to the side. “When I was s-seven I kissed a boy that l-lived across the river.”

“How was it?” she asked, trying to remain casual. 

“I was s-seven,” he said with a straight face. “I th-thought kissing someone basically m-meant marriage.”

They stared at each other, unsure of what to do next.

Ava cleared her throat. “You could, you know, just go…” she mumbled, darting her eyes around.

Odin blinked slowly.

“You…want me to l-leave…?”

Ava smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand.

“No you doofus! I meant get going! As in kiss me!” she chided.

“ _Oh_ okay, r-right, okay,” he agreed, shifting from one elbow to the other.

He leaned closer, shutting his eyes as he broke the distance between them.

Ava held her breath, sinking her head into the pillow, her face burning red hot. She hiccuped, spluttering a mouthful of blistering hot lava just as he placed his lips against her’s. 

Odin screamed from the back of his throat, jerking away and covering his mouth, eyes wide in alarm. 

Ava covered her mouth, repeating frantically, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!”

He rubbed at the pain, trying to lessen the burn. 

“It’s okay, I’m fine, it’s all good,” he tried to assure her, blinking rapidly against the tears forming in his eyes.

“Are you crying?” she breathed. 

“No!” he lied, his skin starting to darken into a deep violet indigo, the red glow of his eyes becoming more fervently vibrant.

Ava looked away, wide-eyed in horror. _This was a disaster just waiting to happen_ , she screamed internally. _I can’t believe this, why did I even ask, why?!_

“Just forget it,” she beseeched, waving her hands around as if to make the embarrassment go away.

Odin pursed his lips, the purple refusing to leave his skin.

“Are you s-sure?” he asked.

Ava covered her face, the heat of her body radiating to every cell, every pore.

“It was stupid, I shouldn’t have even asked,” she sighed.

Odin pulled her hands away gently, holding them against her chest.

“You do kn-know I want to k-kiss you, right?”

The girl blinked slowly, the magma cooling and slowing its flustered rush.

He leaned forward once more, tilting his head, and pressed his lips against her’s. She closed her eyes, trying to assess exactly _how_ it felt in the darkened room.

He was cold against the alien fire of her skin, that much she could tell. A moment passed, and he pulled away, exhaling a small breath into her mouth.

Above all else, she decided, a kiss was soft and remarkably earnest.

Odin smiled, reaching forward to kiss her on the forehead before moving back to his side of the bed.

“You t-taste like a campfire,” he snickered into his pillow.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you’d know what a campfire tastes like,” she taunted. 

Ava looked over to see the back of his head, the messy shock of black hair sticking out in odd ends and angles. She bit the inside of her cheek before rolling over and wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her forehead against the sharp curve of his spine. 

She mumbled into his shoulder blade, “G’night.”

He answered her, calling out in a hushed voice.

“Goodnight Ava.”

———————————-

The daydreams were spastic, disjointed; too bright and too surreal to provide any real straightforward answers. 

In the sunlight, he walked through a meadow towards a large oak. A canary was following him, flying wildly around his face. Its relentless singing was going to drive him mad, he was sure of it. 

Beneath the tree, he reached out, grabbing the small yellow bird and trapping it in his hand.

“I’ll n-never let you sing again.”

And with that, he pressed his thumb sharply upward, snapping its neck.

Odin closed his eyes.

He could _still_ hear that singing.

An acorn suddenly flew through the air, hitting him in the back of the head. Odin spun around, only to see the familiar redhead sitting on a branch, swaying her bare feet in the air. She smiled, waving.

She dropped to the ground, treading slowly towards the boy.

He held out the corpse in his hands.

“I’m s-sorry,” he breathed.

Ava reached out, plucking the body from his hand. She lowered her head, kissing it, then turned, tossing it into the air. The canary took off, tiny wings flying with new, rapid purpose to somewhere neither of them could see.

He dropped his head into his hands.

“Wh-Why are people s-s-so afraid of me?”

Ava peeled his hands from his face, holding them in her own, studying the creases and lines and roughness.

“People will always be scared of what they don’t understand.”

He looked up, but could not see the sun.

“And _no one_ understands Death,” he heard her remark.

He found himself rolling up his sleeves, clawing at the damp earth, digging at the soil. He knew the bones were here somewhere, he knew he could find them, if only there was enough time…

“Odin?”

Opening his eyes and leaving the daydream, he saw Ava stooping before him, her hands on her knees. The wind rolled through the meadow, causing him to shiver. 

“It’s time to go.”

He lifted himself up, pushing against the bark of the ancient tree, his eyes wandering over the dark green canopy of leaves. 

The teenager just wasn’t sure why he felt like there would be a ghost watching him from the branches.

———————————

As with any accident, it happened unexpectedly, and without sympathy.

Early in the morning, they had set out to fix a break in the wire fence surrounding the homestead. Fortunately, the site of the broken wire was close by and easily repairable. Hoisting his satchel over his shoulders, the two of them set out, leaving a note for his sisters.

Neither of them had noticed the pair of gloves lying forgotten on the kitchen table.

They trudged past thorns and thickets until coming to the damaged wire of the fence. Odin crouched on one knee, pressing his thumb against the sharp spike. 

He chewed the inside of his cheek, realizing the breakage would probably need hardier tools. Without hesitation he started to pull the new wire from his satchel.

“Ava,” he said. “Th-There’s a pair of red wire c-cutters in the tool shed, hanging on a n-nail in the wall. Can you get them f-for me?”

She nodded, turning on her heel and walking briskly back to the shed.

Odin stretched out the expanse of wire, yawning.

He froze when he heard the screech of a bird.

Leaning back, he squinted, trailing his line of sight down the fence. There was a frantic flap of feathers, followed by the same shrill cry.

Odin stood up, following the sound. 

He found the source of the confusion. A magpie, her foot caught in a tangled strand of wire, was cawing, flapping desperately in an attempt to escape.

Odin stooped down, avoiding the magpie’s fearful struggling as he began untwisting the wire from her foot. 

“Calm down,” he grumbled, placing a hand on either side of her wings and pulling her free. “I’m t-trying to save your life.”

He realized too late that he wasn’t wearing gloves as he held her.

The magpie suddenly went limp in his hands, her head rolling slack, the light in her black eyes flickering to a deadened listlessness.

Odin stood there, unable to move, gasping at the now lifeless body in his hands.

It hit him all at once, too quickly, too violently.

Ava pulled the wire cutters off the wall when she heard a scream.

She dropped the cutters to the ground, tearing out of the shed and stumbling into the open field. She could see him in the distance, sitting with his knees to the ground, his face buried in his hands. 

“Odin!” she called out, sprinting towards him. She slowed, dropping to her knees and skidding to a stop. 

“What’s wrong?” she implored, grabbing him by the shoulders. 

“I k-k-killed her! I killed her I k-killed her I k-k-killed h-her,” he babbled, losing himself in rapid terror.

Ava shook her head, pressing further, “Who? Tell me who!”

She spotted the spiritless body of a bird lying beside him, staring at her with bleak, dead eyes.

“Odin, it’s okay,” she stated, watching his skin gnarl into leathery shades of shocking violet.

His breathing became too quick, too shallow as he grasped at her arms, shaking.

“I c-can’t breathe,” he said between short gasps.

Ava reached her arm around the boy, pleading with him to stand up. 

“Let me get you in the house? Okay? Can you do that much?” 

He nodded, short and quick as they stood and walked back, the taller boy leaning with his arm around her shoulder. Odin turned his neck to steal a glance at the magpie, only for Ava to coax him further away.

“Don’t look at it,” she said.

They stumbled into the house, Ava pushing the screen door open with her hip. She was guiding him into the kitchen, trying to remain calm against the increasing panic coming from her friend.

Raven and Crow looked up, peeking over the top of the couch. They frowned when they saw Odin grasping at his chest, hyperventilating. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Raven called out.

Ava shook her head as they walked by. 

“I think he’s having a panic attack,” she replied. 

They rounded the corner into the kitchen, where Ava lowered Odin unto a dining chair. She grabbed the washcloth hanging over the sink, running cold water over it, and wringing it out.

The younger girl pulled a chair in front of him, sitting down and placing the damp washcloth over the back of his neck. 

“Please d-don’t l-l-leave me,” he whispered, his body trembling.

Ava reached out, holding him gently by the wrist.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, I’m not leaving,” she stated. “Just focus on breathing.”

Raven and Crow appeared from around the doorway, watching from a distance, their faces apprehensive at being unsure of how to help.

“Can you tell me how you feel right now?” Ava asked. She watched him carefully, worriedly, but reached inside herself to remain calm. 

“I d-don’t kn-know,” Odin choked, wrapping his arms around his waist and dropping downwards, pressing his chest against his knees, face twisted in agony. “I don’t know wh-what I’m f-f-feeling.”

“Okay,” she reassured. “Just focus on breathing.”

His eyes were glowing a scathingly, bloody red as he lifted himself up, inhaling shakily. 

His sisters hesitated, stepping back when their brother acknowledged them.

“I’m okay,” he told them unsteadily.

He couldn’t bear to look at them in this state, turning and covering his eyes in shame.

Ava spoke out, calm and composed.

“Crow, Raven. Could you give us some space?”

They shot each other a quick glance.

“Please?” the redhead added.

They drew back, retreating to the living room.

Odin shook his head, taking deep breaths.

“I didn’t m-mean to k-k-kill her,” he lamented.

Ava reached out, placing her hand over his. “I know.”

She paused before continuing.

“Back at Titan’s Headquarters, I didn’t mean to cause so much destruction, or to hurt innocent people. At first, I _thought_ that’s what I wanted, but…”

Ava ran her thumb over his hand.

“I never meant to hurt anyone. But I have to live with what I’ve done.”

Odin sighed heavily. 

“You’re s-strong, you know,” he said. “You’re strong w-with or without Wrathia.”

Ava blinked at the words, taken aback. 

In the mid-morning light of the kitchen, watching the trees rustle through the window, she wondered if in any other universe, in any other timeline, if she could have become the person she was now _without_ her demons.

She realized, that the likelihood of that was unmistakably, undoubtedly, nonexistent.

————————————–

On a clear, sunny day, Odin had brought Ava back to the wisteria tree. 

They sat, shoulder to shoulder, watching his sisters explore the banks of the river, skipping stones and trying to catch tiny, silvery fish.

“I c-can’t believe you’re making another one,” he jested.

Ava worked meticulously, concentrating on weaving the flowers together into a crown. 

“Well it’s different this time,” she countered. “This one is made of wisteria.”

Odin raised his brow, peering off to the side to watch the light reflect against the water. He chewed at the mouthpiece of his pipe before inhaling the smoke deeply. 

It had been a very long, difficult past few weeks.

Ava held out the crown, smiling brightly.

“What do you think?” she beamed.

Odin let his eyes wander over the delicately entwined flowers, the vines crossing and overlapping in graceful spirals.

“I th-think it’s beautiful,” he remarked. 

Ava scooted forward on her knees, unable to hide her grin as she placed it on his head. She pulled back, crossing her hands over her chest.

A few seconds passed. The flowers remained perfectly intact.

The girl covered her mouth with her hands, crying out excitedly, “Odin! The flowers! They’re not dying!”

He looked up. The flowers persisted, still alive, still fresh and colorful.

Unable to control her excitement, she lurched forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into an embrace. 

“I’m so happy for you,” she laughed.

Odin plucked a tiny bud from the crown, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

Squinting his eyes, concentrating on the purple flower he held, he persuaded it to blacken, making it curl into itself in dreadful, dying defeat.

He didn’t know what was worse.

Being unable to control his powers?

Or the fact that he now could.


End file.
